


Taste of Home

by Vena



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Food, Humor, M/M, Rated for swearing, sakyo's just a tiny bit of a disaster, very vague and very mild akebono spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29730204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vena/pseuds/Vena
Summary: Something suspicious was going on, and Sakyo was going to get to the bottom of it.
Relationships: Furuichi Sakyou/Fushimi Omi
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	Taste of Home

**Author's Note:**

> WHY ARE THERE LIKE NO SAKYOMI FICS!!!!!! i will probably be writing more in the future because i really have a soft spot for mom and dad especially after reading akebono ;v; this is my first time writing for most of these characters so apologies if anything seems too ooc but this was really fun to write! I hope you enjoy!! for the akebono spoilers, i tried to keep them as vague as i could since the event won't be in eng a3 for a long time so if some parts seem a little vague that was intentional!

Something suspicious was going on, and Sakyo was going to get to the bottom of it. 

Settsu and Nanao always seemed to stop chattering whenever he entered the practice room, Nanao being as far from subtle as you could get that he was pointedly pretending they hadn’t been gossiping about something. Settsu, the little shit, would smirk at him for a moment before calling a start to rehearsal and it made Sakyo’s blood boil. 

If it was just those two, it would be mildly annoying, but he wouldn’t let Settsu get under his skin. They were the chattiest members of Autumn Troupe, and it was probably something stupid anyway. Complaints, probably.

But it wasn’t just them. 

Hyodo had been staring at him at dinner lately. Whenever Sakyo felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end he would look up from his meal, find Hyodo glancing at him from the other end of the dinner table, and as soon as their eyes met he’d quickly go back to his food as if nothing had happened. He always seemed a little sheepish afterward, so Sakyo was hesitant to confront him about it. 

Azami was nagging him about his skincare routine even more than usual. 

“How many times do I have to tell you to put this moisturizer on your face before bed, you shitty old man?” And here he went again.

“I’m fine, brat.” Azami stomped over to where Sakyo was seated at his desk, dumping a large bottle of lotion on top of the receipts he’d been going through. 

“You’re _dry_. You’ll shrivel up like an old prune at this rate. Think about the people who have to look at you for a change.” There was an awkward pause, as if that wasn’t what Azami had meant to say. “I-If your skin isn’t ready for our next show I’ll take you out myself!” Sakyo was confused; why was the kid’s face so red? That kind of expression was usually reserved for when the company was watching one of Sumeragi’s latest dramas together and he’d just held hands with his co-star on screen.

With a sigh, Sakyo picked up the bottle and turned it over in his hand before setting it to the side. “Fine. I’ll put it on once I’m done with these.” He was going to have a word with the director and Matsukawa; if the total of these receipts were right, they’d gone over the prop budget for the month and there would be hell to pay.

“G-Good!” Azami stammered, backing up with a huff and refusing to meet Sakyo’s gaze. “You need all the help you can get, old man!” And before Sakyo could get another word in edgewise Azami fled the room and slammed the door behind him. Sakyo pushed his chair back and got to his feet, throwing the door open and glaring at Azami’s rapidly retreating back.

“If you slam that door again--!”

“S-Shut up!” Azami cut in, shouting, as he disappeared down the hall faster than Sakyo had seen him move outside of a staged action sequence. When he came back into the room later that night he still refused to look at Sakyo as he quickly slipped into bed. What in the hell was that all about?

* * *

Of course, that wasn’t the last of the strange incidents that had been occuring lately. 

Nothing had seemed off to Sakyo at first. It was the weekly meeting of the Shoujo Manga Appreciation Club, and the three members were gathered in Sakisaka and Miyoshi’s room for their usual discussion. Sakyo set his volumes of the manga on the table while Sakisaka poured them all tea, and they all settled in. 

The series they’d read this week was called _Taste of Love_. It was a short, four volume series about Asuka, a hot-headed woman who struggled with her boring, dead-end office job and dealing with her younger brother’s delinquent tendencies causing problems. She also spent a lot of time outside work hanging out with her friend, Fujiko. The highlight of her week was the restaurant she would dine at every Friday evening, where she would eat her favorite omurice. It was a restaurant she had frequented for three years just to get that meal. It felt like home, and she’d slowly come to love the chef who prepared it; a man named Eiji.

“They were so sweet,” Sakisaka insisted, and Sakyo could see the metaphorical stars twinkling in his eyes. “Using food to win over the love of your life is so romantic!”

“I think it was a little unrealistic,” Sakyo interjected, clearing his throat a little when the other two eyed him expectantly. “They only talked a few times. How was she to know that, beyond his cooking ability, Eiji was a good man? Will he accept her brother’s troubles? He helped her a couple of times, but it seems superficial to fall for someone simply because they have a nice face and can cook your favorite food well.”

Sakisaka seemed to deflate at that as he exchanged a look with Miyoshi. What was that all about?

"I getcha, Frooch. So your opinion might be totes different if they had more of a connection?" That was a little vague.

"More like, if they'd had more scenes of bonding and talking and getting to know each other better, you might like it more?" Sakisaka had gotten a bit of his enthusiasm back.

"Sure. I understand there weren't a lot of chapters to work with, but I think we could have done without the arc about Fujiko's relationship with her boyfriend and instead given Asuka and Eiji more chances to meet outside of the restaurant." The boys looked strangely relieved at that, which again seemed odd. "What, were you two _that_ invested in their relationship?"

"O-Of course! He always made her omurice special, and even wrote notes to her in ketchup on it! And then she'd look up and they would exchange a soft glance from where he was watching at the kitchen window!" Ah, here was the usual Sakisaka. "I'm sure that if Eiji had the chance to meet Asuka's brother, he would have been willing to help him too like that time in volume four page twenty-three where he stopped that mugger from hurting Asuka!"

"Major agree, Mukkun! And his declaration of love was sooooo 'blammable! Like, that ketchup art looked pro!"

The discussion continued on fairly routine from there, but Sakyo couldn't help but notice the glances Sakisaka and Miyoshi would share whenever he had something to say about the two leads. Was there something he wasn't aware of? A sequel series? 

When the discussion had finished and they had selected the next series from Sakisaka's collection (This one looked to be another short series involving a chef who was trying to win her best friend's heart by perfecting his favorite dish), Sakisaka insisted he be the first to read them. Miyoshi agreed, thrust the three volumes into his arms and sent him on his way. 

Sakyo glanced down at the books in his hands, squinting at the brunette protagonist frantically mixing something in a saucepan on the cover, and her blonde love interest friend adjusting his glasses at the dining table in the background. This was the third cooking-themed series in a row they’d read. He was going to have to make a point of suggesting a new theme at the next meeting.

* * *

“Omi’s cooking has been extra good lately, huh?” Nanao exclaimed, taking another bite of his hamburger steak and making an appreciative sound. 

“I guess. You sure it’s not just ‘cause we’re still sufferin’ the aftereffects of Chikage’s spice night that it tastes better than usual?” Settsu retorted. Everyone in the immediate vicinity groaned at the memory, and Sakyo was no exception. Sure, the cooking ban had been his idea, but that didn’t mean Sakyo hadn’t missed Fushimi’s cooking. And the years of his life Utsuki's super spicy curry had burned off.

Not that he’d ever tell the other guys, because Settsu and the brat would tease him endlessly, but Sakyo might have missed Fushimi’s cooking more than anyone else. It wasn’t like Fushimi cooked every night regardless, but on his assigned cooking days Sakyo always found that he could focus a little more on his work and finish things up earlier than usual just so he could get home to eat whatever it was he’d prepared that day and enjoy basking in his company. What he'd told Fushimi had been true, after all.

Sometimes, if Sakyo made it home early enough, he'd even have the opportunity to watch Fushimi still toiling away in the kitchen. To see how content he looked as he chopped up vegetables or prepared enough meat to feed an army. He'd get to hear him hum a soft tune as he packed some of the extra rice into onigiri for their resident triangle maniac. Sakyo would maybe join him, help get the dishes ready for serving while they maneuvered around each other in a careful dance to keep from knocking the plates from Sakyo's hands, or a knife from Fushimi's. 

They would talk a little; exchanging stories about work. Fushimi was still enjoying his job with the photography company and had done a set of family photos that afternoon, while Sakyo recounted how Sakoda had tripped and spilled an entire box of rice crackers all over the floor and had to pick each of them up individually. Sakyo couldn’t talk quite as freely about his work day, given the nature of some of his work, but it was nice to hear about the little things that went on during Fushimi’s day. 

At least Fushimi wasn’t catching whatever weirdness was going on with the rest of the troupe. Maybe _he_ was the one Sakyo should consult about it. There was no reason to trouble the director with it, and Fushimi knew how to keep quiet if he needed to.

For that reason, the next day Fushimi was scheduled to cook dinner Sakyo made sure to quickly finish things up at the office and make it back to the dormitory with some time to spare. Thankfully it seemed pretty quiet, aside from the sizzling of whatever the other man was currently preparing in the kitchen. Whatever it was smelled heavenly; Sakyo crossed the living room (whose only occupant was a sleeping Mikage) and made his way to the kitchen entrance.

“Welcome home, Sakyo-san! Looks like you got done early today?” Fushimi asked, voice as warm as the smile on his face. Sakyo tried not to focus on that too closely as he nodded, leaning against one of the counters.

“We had a light load today.” That was a lie, but Fushimi didn’t need to know that. Sakyo’s gaze drifted to the stove, where it looked like he was preparing fried rice and getting ready to throw some marinated chicken breasts into the oven. The first batch of chicken must have already been cooking, because Sakyo could definitely smell it. It wasn’t like fried rice was a complicated dish to make, but Fushimi’s managed to taste far better than Minagi’s ever did. It didn’t matter if it was fried rice from the top restaurant in town; there really was nothing else in the world quite like Fushimi’s cooking. The sight and smell of it across the kitchen in a large wok on the stove made Sakyo’s mouth water, and the stresses of the day already began to melt off of his shoulders somewhat. “Did you need any help?”

“If you could get the plates ready to go that would be great,” Fushimi said, nodding toward the cabinet as he turned back to his chicken prep. 

“Sure.” Sakyo carefully slid past him and to the cabinet where they kept all of their tableware. It would take several trips, given the number of mouths they had to feed, but Sakyo was used to it. The extra time meant it would be less awkward to strike up a conversation. “So. Fushimi. Has anyone else in the troupe been acting strangely around you lately?” Straight and to the point.

Curiously, Fushimi’s back straightened for a moment before he set the chicken down, going to the sink to wash his hands. “Strange? How so?”

“Guess I _do_ have to be more specific with this bunch, huh?” That at least got a chuckle out of Fushimi. “I don’t know; I feel like half of the company’s been walking on eggshells around me for a while. More so than usual.”

“I see.” Fushimi dried his hands and returned to continue preparing the rice.

“Either that, or there’s some big secret everyone’s chattering about behind my back, and I’ve got no clue what it is.” Sakyo set the plates down with a clatter. “I’m at my wit’s end; If I catch Settsu looking at me with that shit-eating grin while we’re doing etudes one more time, I’m going to rip that brat a new hole!”

Fushimi laughed again, a little softer this time. Sakyo couldn’t see his face, since he was still turned toward the stove, so he couldn’t be sure what kind of expression he was making.

“I...think that might be my fault, actually.” Fushimi sounded a little embarrassed as his shoulders hunched down. 

“I sincerely doubt there was anything you could do to cause everyone to act like _that._ ” 

“I had expected what I said to stay between Taichi and I. But…” Fushimi trailed off, mixing in the rest of the ingredients for the rice as he carefully flipped it in the wok. 

“Nanao’s one of the last guys you want to talk to if you want to keep a secret,” Sakyo sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter again. “So? What did you tell the kid?” What on earth could Fushimi have said to get everyone behaving like this? 

What Sakyo didn’t expect was the hesitancy. Fushimi seemed to busy himself more with the cooking, seemingly trying to avoid the subject. The sizzling of the food being tossed about was louder than usual in the silence of the room.

“Fushimi?”

“What? Hold on, I can’t hear you.” He continued flipping the rice, and Sakyo was quickly growing impatient. The food wasn’t _that_ loud. Though it was getting a little hard to stay focused as the delicious smell of the rice and the baking chicken permeated the room. 

After a minute or so the flipping stopped, and the sounds from the wok quieted as Fushimi lowered the heat just enough to keep the dish warm.

“Now tell me: What did you say to Nanao?” Sakyo sighed. Fushimi was still quiet, and Sakyo was certain that he was being ignored this time. He grit his teeth as he pushed himself up off the counter, crossing the small gap between them to grab Fushimi’s shoulder. “Did you hear me?” Sakyo tugged hard enough to finally get the other man to face him, and Fushimi’s face was flushed deeper than Sakyo could recall seeing it before. Was it from the heat of the stove? The taller man kept his gaze off to the side, deliberately not seeking Sakyo’s. Was he embarrassed?

“...Fushimi?” Sakyo asked softer this time, trying to coax any kind of response out of the other man. Something in Sakyo’s chest tightened at his expression; a feeling he’d long since put into a bottle and shoved deep down within himself. A feeling he’d unbottled just enough when he’d told Fushimi how his cooking made him feel prior to their last show, before pushing it right back down again. “It can’t be _that_ bad.” At that, Fushimi’s golden eyes finally met Sakyo’s gaze with a bit of reluctance. 

“Can you promise me one thing, Sakyo-san?” 

“Depends on what it is.” 

“Please don’t laugh.” Sakyo rolled his eyes at that.

“So it’s something embarrassing, then. I’ll at least promise I’ll try not to.” That didn’t seem to make Fushimi any more comfortable, and Sakyo gave his shoulder a brief pat as a show of support before he finally released the other man from his grasp. That seemed to reassure him a little, at least.

“About a week after our last play closed, I’d noticed Taichi was staring at me a lot whenever we had practice. He’d always pretend he wasn’t when I caught him, though.” Sakyo scoffed, remembering how Nanao had been doing the same thing to him for the past few weeks as well. 

“I asked him about it, and he…” Fushimi hesitated for a moment before letting the rest of his breath out of his nose before sucking in another. “Well, he asked me if there was something going on between you and I.” Something going on? Like…?

“Where in the hell did he get that idea?” 

Fushimi shrugged, a little helplessly.

“According to him, it was just a gut feeling he got during the after party.” The after party? Fushimi _had_ let it slip that Sakyo had liked his cooking, and Sakyo would be lying if what Fushimi had said hadn’t added another drop of feelings to the bottle he’d buried, but it wasn’t like Nanao had heard their previous heart to heart regarding the matter. “There were a few other things, but if it’s alright with you I’d rather not repeat them.” Sakyo didn’t like the sound of that, but he supposed the little details were less important. That, and he was pretty sure the discussion might be over if he tried to force them out of the taller man.

“Fine. But you told him there was nothing going on, right?” Fushimi looked like he was going to clam up again and the bottle dropped into the pit of his stomach. “Fushimi,” Sakyo warned.

“I told him there wasn’t anything going on, no need to worry.” Somehow that still didn’t make Sakyo feel better, considering there was no way a denial should have caused everyone’s recent actions. “He pressed me on it more though, and I...may have admitted to him that I wouldn’t mind if there was.” 

“...What?” Sakyo must have heard wrong. The bottle jumped up from the pit of his stomach into his throat, and he had to painfully swallow around it.

Fushimi’s cheeks were still tinted pink, but he seemed resigned to his fate now with a small smile on his face. “I told him I liked you, Sakyo-san.”

“And that was the truth..?” 

“...Yeah.”

Sakyo’s knees buckled with the weight of the admission, but he kept on his feet. Suddenly, it was like the heat from the stove had been ratcheted up a few hundred degrees and he’d been roasted in it. 

And then everything clicked into place.

Nanao had no doubt been gossiping about it with Settsu, which explained all the hushed conversations that had ceased when he’d enter the room. It also explained those infuriating looks Settsu had been giving him; they had been I-know-something-you-don’t looks. Sakyo would find a way to make him pay for it later. 

That also explained why Hyodo had kept staring at him during mealtime. Now that he thought back, he only ever seemed to look whenever it had been Fushimi’s night to cook. He’d probably been trying to gauge his reaction to the food. Either Nanao or Settsu had probably blabbed to him about it. 

In turn, he must have passed it on to his cousin, who passed it on to Miyoshi, who promptly passed it on to the rest of the company. And if Sakisaka and Miyoshi had known--

“So _that’s_ what that was all about,” Sakyo laughed. All of their recent shoujo manga picks made sense now; all of the romances with cooks, and the fact that the love interest pining after the chef tended to be blonde. It also explained why the two of them had been trying so hard to gauge his interest in each of the pairings far more than usual. How had he not connected the dots sooner? That was probably why Azami had been getting on his case about the condition of his skin, too. And why he’d been so embarrassed about it. The kid was trying to help in his own way. Sakyo held his stomach with the force of his laughter, and he was reminded Fushimi was still inches in front of him when a hand found his shoulder.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh,” Fushimi frowned, and that only made Sakyo laugh harder, the bottle in his throat popping its cork.

“I said ‘try’,” Sakyo reminded him, reaching for the other man as he steadied himself. “And I promise it’s not you I’m laughing about. I’ll tell you about it later.” He took a few deep breaths after that, trying to calm himself down. He really hadn’t had a laugh like that in ages. He finally met Fushimi’s gaze again, and it was tentative. Still embarrassed, a little apprehensive, but there may have been a small spark of hope behind his golden irises; Sakyo allowed himself to be drawn into them.

“Well?” Fushimi asked, his grip on Sakyo’s shoulder gentle but firm. 

“Hm?”

“How do _you_ feel?” Fushimi’s eyes dropped again. “About me?”

Sakyo was quiet. He knew how he felt, but what was the best way to say it? His hesitance made Fushimi drop his hand, and Sakyo found himself missing its warmth.

“If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay! We can just carry on like we have been, right? I promise I won’t let it get in the way of practice, or cause any issues within the troupe. I--”

“Fushimi.” Sakyo cut him off before he could get any farther. “I--” And now it was Sakyo’s turn to be cut off as the timer for the chicken blared through the kitchen. Fushimi gave him an apologetic smile as he slipped on his oven mitts and pulled the pan out to set on the cooling rack on the counter. The smell hit Sakyo’s nostrils and again his mouth began to water. This truly was the smell of home. If he had the option, he would eat Fushimi’s cooking forever. 

Before Fushimi could take the oven mitts off, Sakyo cornered him against the counter. The taller man was surprised, eyes widening with his hands up between them as Sakyo gripped the counter and pressed closer to box him in. 

"You know I'm a yakuza, right?" Sakyo asked. Fushimi blinked slowly, as if trying to figure out if this was a trick question, before nodding. "I might not be able to meet your family. I wouldn't want that kind of stigma hanging around them." Fushimi seemed to get where he was going with this, shoulders dropping as he relaxed a bit.

"I used to be part of a gang, remember? I don't think my dad would mind too much." Sakyo chuckled at that; what an optimistic outlook. Then again, that was just one of the parts Sakyo liked about him. A balance to the pessimism that clung to him like a shadow.

"I guess not." 

Fushimi was still looking at him expectantly, and suddenly Sakyo was far less confident than he had been a moment ago. Even though the words he wanted to say were caught in his throat, getting them out was another matter entirely. He was the king of repressing his feelings and desires, after all. He opened his mouth, still struggling, and Fushimi gave him an encouraging smile that sent a rush of heat to Sakyo's face, and made him clam up even more. The dull glow of the kitchen's single overhead light cast a soft glow over Fushimi's features, and for a moment Sakyo struggled to breathe properly.

This was getting ridiculous. And far too sappy for Sakyo's liking, and nothing had even happened yet. If he couldn't just say it, he would have to convey his feelings in another way. It wasn't the proper way, and not really how he wanted this to go for the first time, but at this rate they'd just stand here gawking at each other until everyone else filed in to get dinner, and that would be more awkward than he could bear. Sakyo removed his hands from the counter as Fushimi gave him a questioning look.

"Sakyo-san?" His eyebrows rose to an almost comical degree as Sakyo instead fisted his hands into the collar of his shirt. “What--” And Sakyo silenced him by tugging him down. He’d planned to go for the lips, but overcome by a final wave of nerves and embarrassment he pressed a soft, quick kiss to Fushimi’s cheek. He heard the taller man take a sharp inhale of breath as Sakyo loosened his hold enough for Fushimi to straighten up again. Sakyo was too self-conscious to meet his gaze, instead focusing on Fushimi’s hands as he used this chance to take off his oven mitts and set them on the counter. He was worse at this than the protagonists of the last three manga series he’d read. At least Asuka had been able to admit to her feelings and kiss Eiji properly, even if he wasn’t the biggest fan of their relationship. 

“Did that mean what I think it meant?” Fushimi asked, the unsaid words hovering between them. Why was Sakyo only ever a coward at times like this? Fushimi had clearly stated how he felt. It shouldn’t be so hard to return the favor. 

“Yeah. I...” Come on, Sakyo. Bite the bullet and just _say_ it. “...feel the same.” Forced through gritted teeth, but that was the best he could do for now. Sakyo was suddenly wishing he hadn’t worn his usual amount of layers because he was roasting alive in his jacket right about now. He was glad he didn’t know how his face must look, because it was probably red, splotchy, and overall a mess. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but he didn’t think he could move. He was supposed to be the cool-headed, mature adult here, dammit! 

And then there were large, gentle hands cupping his face to turn his gaze upward again. There was a warmth behind Fushimi’s eyes; a fondness in his smile. The same look Riku had given Klaus at the end of the play, during that final scene where they’d met in the restaurant again. This time, though, Sakyo realized the unspoken feelings behind that expression were more than just an act. Fushimi gently brushed his thumb just under Sakyo’s eye, and Sakyo took a shuddering breath as he realized just what his thumb was resting over. 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” Fushimi murmured, softly, as if he would scare Sakyo off if he were any louder. Sakyo was finding it hard to breathe. He reached his own hand up to cup Fushimi’s cheek and traced his thumb over his scar, heart thudding in his chest as he realized this was _actually_ happening. Maybe he’d been reading too much of Sakisaka’s manga. 

“Yeah.” he managed to choke out. Smooth. Fushimi chuckled and Sakyo wanted to feel annoyed about it, but his mind was a little preoccupied as Fushimi leaned down and their lips met. Sakyo squeezed his eyes shut, sliding his hand from the other man’s cheek to thread into his hair. He could feel Fushimi smile into the kiss, and he couldn’t help but smile right back. 

The quiet was broken by someone clearing their throat and Sakyo leaped back and hit the counter on the other side of the kitchen with a bang, breaking the kiss as Fushimi’s hands flew to his sides and he leaned as far back as the counter behind him would allow. With hearts hammering in their chests they both turned to see who had made that sound to find Chigasaki standing near the fridge, giving them a knowing look before opening it. This was mortifying.

“Just needed to grab some fuel,” he said, digging out a bottle of cola from behind the milk carton. “‘Grats, by the way. Juuuust might wanna watch where you’re doing that in the future.” Chigasaki was the last person Sakyo wanted advice from, but he was right. If Azami had been the one to walk in on them, there would probably be a fist fight going on right now. 

“Sorry,” Fushimi said, cheeks blazing with color once more. Chigasaki shrugged as he cracked the bottle open, taking a swig as he nudged the fridge door closed with his leg. “Dinner’s about ready, too, so feel free to help yourself.”

“Smells good,” Chigasaki hummed, capping the bottle and shoving it into his jacket’s pocket as he went to grab a plate and dish up. Sakyo stepped out of the way and met Fushimi’s gaze across the kitchen, warming at the sight of his sheepish smile. “TY as always, Omi.” With a nod, Chigasaki left the kitchen to go seat himself in the dining room. 

“You should grab some too before it gets cold,” Fushimi said, gesturing to the plates. Sakyo was about to object when his stomach rumbled, and he quickly tried to cover the sound of it with a few hearty coughs. Fushimi’s smile widened and he laughed, a bright, genuine sound as Sakyo crossed the space between them to lightly punch his shoulder. “Sorry! I just remembered Zen-san had said you used to do that when you were younger, too.” Sakyo didn’t know what was worse; that Fushimi had laughed at him, or that he’d really liked the sound of that laugh. It wasn’t every day he heard one as honest as that from the guy.

Yep, definitely too much shoujo manga.

“That old man needs to learn when to keep his trap shut,” Sakyo growled, snatching up a plate and serving himself as well. The steam from the food fogged up his glasses for a brief moment, but Sakyo nearly lost himself in the mouth-watering scent of the chicken again. Fushimi’s golden eyes had that soft, helpless look in them again as he handed Sakyo a pair of chopsticks. His heart _definitely_ didn’t skip a beat when their fingers brushed briefly as he accepted them. Jesus.

“I’ll join you once I’ve let everyone know dinner’s ready,” Fushimi said.

“I’ll save a spot for you then.” 

Fushimi leaned down to press a quick kiss to the top of his head as he left, Sakyo cursing after him as he turned down the hallway with a wave. They’d have to have a more serious talk about this after dinner. 

Sakyo trudged his way out to the table, setting his plate down several seats away from Chigasaki. He shrugged off his coat, sighing in relief as some of the heat left his system and he laid it over the back of the chair next to him. To his relief, Chigasaki seemed too preoccupied trying to balance his chopsticks while tapping away at his phone with his other hand to pay him any mind. 

Sakyo glanced down at the chicken and rice on his plate, happy to finally be able to dig in after everything that had happened. He took his first bite of rice and closed his eyes, delighting in the flavor that danced across his tongue. He wanted to tear into the meal, but he didn’t want to be gone before Fushimi returned. That, and he truly wanted to savor it. 

Things would probably be different between them now. There were a lot of things that Sakyo wasn’t prepared for; he’d never had much time for a relationship, much less sought one out. And they were part of the same troupe; if things didn’t go well, it could easily become an issue on stage if they weren’t careful. 

Things would change from here on out. But as Sakyo took another warm bite, he knew there was at least one thing that wouldn’t.

The taste of home.  
  



End file.
